It would take a mighty drought to dry up the waters of the
Territory--permanent, we call them, sure of our rivers and our rains.
Almost fifty miles of these deep-flowing waterways fell to our share;
thirty-five miles of the Roper, twelve in the Long Reach, besides great
holes scattered here and there along the beds of creeks that are mighty
rivers in themselves "during the Wet." Too much water, if anything, was
the complaint at the Elsey, for water everywhere meant cattle everywhere.
For over two hours we rode, prying into and probing all sorts of odd
nooks and crannies before we found any sign of blacks, and then, Roper
giving the alarm, every one sat to attention. Roper had many ways of
amusing himself when travelling through bush, but one of his greatest
delights was nosing out hidden black fellows. At the first scent of
"nigger" his ears would prick forward, and if left to himself, he would
carry his rider into an unsuspected nigger camp, or stand peering into
the bushes at a discomfited black fellow, who was busy trying to think of
some excuse to explain his presence and why he had hidden.
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